Deadly Still

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The killer looked down at the body with a critical eye. Something wasn’t quite right about the way it would look to someone discovering it. The position of the legs would look too contrived.

I can’t risk that. It needs to look natural, as if there had been a sudden seizure and the body slumped forward and fell flat on its face. That would be in keeping, for everyone knows how much the bastard drinks at nights. I’ll reposition them afterwards.

The killer lifted the head by the hair and the torso by the collar until it was raised as far as the spine would allow. Then, placing a foot on the back of the neck and stamping down hard at the same time as letting go with the hands, the head was forcibly driven onto the bare wooden floor. A sickening thud ensued and a crunch as the nasal bones shattered. A pool of blood immediately started to form around the head.

Gingerly lifting the whisky glass in a gloved hand and holding it above and to the side of the body the slayer threw it at a slight angle so that it smashed and splashed its contents forwards. For added effect the empty whisky bottle was rolled across the floor, sloshing liquid as it went until it stopped against the skirting board.

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